


Les belles dames sans merci

by auxanges



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Face-Sitting, Genderbending, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/pseuds/auxanges
Summary: Thank god you’re a Strider with cosmic levels of chill or you would probably be having a little more of a crisis than this, but multiples are not something you’re new to.Two Junes, though…Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fuck it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> birthday gift for levi!! happy fuckin birth girl have some Stuff  
> whats better than one june? two junes. sweet sweet symmetry  
> goin off friends' hc for femdaves name still being dave for The Ironies its kinda hot ngl

You have exactly zero idea how June got into your room. Your hair is still shower-damp, an elastic in your mouth while you pull it into a long white-blond ponytail, and your hands freeze when you see her on your bed. She smiles at you, lopsided and wonderful, and you forget to ask her where she came from.

“Dave, pick a number between one and ten.”

She’s not wearing pants, oh _god_ , she’s not wearing pants. Your finish your ponytail, tugging at the hair closest to the band to jumpstart your system. “Uh,” is all your stupid mouth-brain combo can muster. 

“Four,” June says, but she doesn’t say, because that came from behind you. You look over your shoulder and sweet fucking Jesus, you’re pretty sure you’ve had this exact dream before. 

“It was four, right?” This June has a French braid running down her back, with a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like yours hanging loosely off one shoulder. The first June, the one cross-legged on your mattress, has her hair in jet-black pigtails, tied low under her ears, and you want so badly to give them a little pull, just to see what happens—

Braid June wraps her arms around your waist, warm and welcome, and you’re almost certain this isn't real, you slipped in the shower and died or something. Which sucks, because as far as deaths go, you’ve had some way more badass ones than that. 

“That’s not fair, you cheated,” Pigtails June says to—herself. You’re incredibly distracted from the rapidly growing question pile in some forgotten corner of your brain. Thank god you’re a Strider with cosmic levels of chill or you would probably be having a little more of a crisis than this, but multiples are not something you’re new to. 

Two Junes, though…

Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fuck it. 

“Gonna have to agree with you on this one,” you finally manage, flashing a Trademark Grin at Pigtails June. 

Braid June runs her thumb absently along your side, and your legs turn to fucking jell-o. “Two against one isn’t fair,” she whines into your shirt. You feel her push forward, gently—you’re a good head taller than her, them, _whatever_ —and you offer no resistance. 

“Look who’s talkin’.” But you sound a lot less smug than you’d like; it’s hard when her hands are on you. Pigtails June sits up on her knees, sky-blue eyes dark with something that goes straight to your core, up your spine, between your legs. 

You let yourself be tugged onto the bed, in Pigtails June’s lap, and when her mouth finally finds yours it’s a fucking mercy. 

June tastes like strawberries. You’re not entirely sure strawberries exist out here, so maybe it’s literally just her, and that suits you just fine. She parts your lips further, makes a soft little noise when your tongue runs along hers and she’ll kill you, she really will. The hands around your waist move up, ghost over the outline of your bra through your shirt. You lean into her touch, feel her press closer to you, and Pigtails June moves stubbornly along with you. 

She winds her hands in your hair, twists your ponytail between her fingers and pulls, and your mouth falls open against hers in a moan that would make any holy creature in a ten-mile radius blush. Then again, you’re pretty sure you and these heaven-sent Egberts are the holiest things around here. 

Braid June pulls your shirt over your head. Pigtails takes the opportunity to scoot backwards, and you feel lips at the crook of your neck that make your eyes flutter shut. 

“Pretty,” two voices murmur, your personal June surround sound, and you want to record it, set it as your fucking ringtone or something, anything to remember the way it reaches into your ribcage and settles there. One of them, you’re not sure which, twists you onto your back. You stare up at them with all the piety of a preacher. 

Then Pigtails June giggles, and leans forward and _sweet fucking lord she’s kissing herself, they’re kissing in front of you_. And you’ll be damned if it’s not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

June has long lashes, soft hands, and a voice like liquid gold. You watch in total fascination, fingers curling in your sheets, a little turned on. 

A lot turned on. 

God, okay, massively turned on.

When they both pull away, their lips are red, they’re breathing a little harder. You’re on cloud fucking nine. Braid June kisses you this time, cool fingers trailing along your chest in a way that reminds you that she plays the piano. Pigtails June is touching your thighs, right at the hem of your boyshorts. You shiver against them, and Braid June laughs against your mouth. 

The hands on your legs are replaced by lips. You are five seconds from losing your goddamn mind. 

Pigtails June trails kisses along the pale expanse of your legs, over the fabric of your underwear (of all goddamn days to wear the smuppets print ones, Strider, you hopeless girl) and at the dip of your hipbones. You jerk a little under her ministrations, gasp at the brush of her tongue on your lower lip. “Christ on a cross, June…”

Your vowels drag through molasses on their way out, a slow nervous drawl that escapes you low and filled with want. Braid June hums at your neck; the sound is music to your ears, a symphony on your skin. 

Pigtails June is flush between your legs, now, and when she presses a kiss over your crotch it’s all you can do not to swear yourself silly. She hooks her fingers in your underwear and pulls it down to your knees, holy shit, holy _shit._ Braid June catches your moan between her lips.

She should not be this good with her tongue—not with the way she’s entirely too silly, always joking around with you, but this is downright obscene. She lets it drag over you, slow and broad in a way that makes your breath come out in shudders. You raise one ghostly hand to her head, thread your fingers through the glossy black strands that loosened their way out of her pigtails. June makes an appreciative noise that send fireworks through your nerves, your hips jerk the slightest bit. She doesn’t complain, your June never _ever_ complains, instead she hooks her arms beneath your knees and you have to cover your mouth when she flicks her tongue lazily. 

“June, _fuck_.” Your voice breaks in the most uncool way humanly possible on the expletive, but you’re a little busy unraveling in two pairs of hands to care. Braid June plays you like a fucking instrument, walks her fingers in the curve of your collarbone and over your flushed chest. Your free hand settles on the small of her back, and she makes a little “oh” sound and kisses you deep and hungry. 

You slip your hand lower, around to the front and into her underpants, and she melts in your palm. Your laugh is high, breathless.

It’s dizzying, and Pigtails June is doing absolutely nothing to help, coaxing her tongue deeper inside you. You curl two of your fingers reflexively—maybe a little vengefully—and Braid June lets out a noise you have definitely _not_ dreamed about, nope, not you. 

“Dave,” she gasps, grinding down on your hand. And again, “Dave, Dave…”

Dreams don’t feel this good. 

You don’t know how Pigtails June knows exactly where to move her mouth, but you feel her suck and her fingers dig into your thighs and fuck, _yes_ —

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making too big a fool of yourself when you climax. It doesn’t really help: you half-moan, half-sob, your thighs pressed to either side of June’s head while she rides it out with you. You see stars, pieces of the space you’ve come to know intimately sprinkled into both Egberts’ hair. You’re breathing like you’ve run a marathon, like you’ve strifed six rounds in a row with your sister, you’re over both fucking moons. 

Pigtails June sits back on her heels, red-faced and grinning and unreal. You pull her in closer and taste yourself on her mouth when you kiss her. You’re not a quitter, so you pull her higher: it’s awkward with one hand, but Braid June is coming apart _beautifully_ , bent over you like she’s at worship, babbling praise that makes you burn redder than you’d thought possible. 

Her panties are already off, and she kneels above you with the tops of her calves against your ears. You press urgent kisses to the insides of her thighs just to hear her moan. 

Your tongue buries inside her at the same time that Braid June shifts against you, coaxing your fingers faster. They’re everywhere at once; you’re surrounded by _June_ until she’s all you see, hear, taste. You could stay here for-fucking-ever. 

It doesn’t take long for them to come, after that—Pigtails June jerks her hips against your face, but you’re not about to complain, not with the way your name spills from her lips like a sacred thing. It warms your already boiling blood. Braid June buries her face in your shoulder. Her ears flare crimson: it’s a good colour, she should wear it more often, and _fuck_ , you feel her tighten around your fingers and you short circuit for a little while. 

Pigtails June climbs down, kisses you sweet and secret-soft. She’s flushed—they both are, and you blink a couple times like your eyeballs are camera shutters. 

“Whoa,” you say, because master of tact you apparently ain’t, post twin-fucking-shenanigans. 

Laughter surrounds you like a blanket, bouncing around in your skull in a pleasant way. June snakes a hand over your hips: you’re not sure who it belongs to. It’s a little cold, but you’re fucking feverish, and shut up about it for once. 

“Ice-cube hands.”

Okay, maybe you don’t shut up about it. 

But that’s alright, because one of the Junes shuts you up instead. She kisses you deep, sighs happily against you. The other June (you’re long past trying to figure out which is which, when their touches and lips are perfect matches) plays with your hair, gently tugging it free of its elastic. It splays out in a silvery halo: June looks absolutely delighted. 

You’re suddenly very much aware of the fact that it’s still wet. It’s longer than June’s, and you can smell the ever-alluring combination of sweat, sex and orange spice shampoo on you. On all three of you. The thought sends a not-unwelcome spark of devotion through your bloodstream, and your fingers find one of four hands to tangle with. 

“June,” you murmur.

“Mmmno,” come the two answers you were expecting. One of the hands not linked in yours pushes lazily against your face. Baby. 

As much as you’d love to indulge her, you’re kind of a mess. “June,” you say again, a little louder. “I need another shower.”

“Not sorry,” they mumble in unison. 

You bite back a grin and run a hand over your face. You’re not sorry either. You’re about as far from sorry as you can get. 

You push yourself up on your elbows and sit up with a dramatic groan. Both Junes look up: their hair is down now, too, messy black curtains that make your stomach do some weird shit. And they smile— _she_ smiles—and you adore her. 

Turning, you hold out both hands, one for each of them. They take both (you resist the admittedly strong urge to make another popsicles for fingers comment) and you hoist them to their feet. They tumble into your arms: your heart’s threatening to mutiny and break out of your chest. 

You pull them both to the shower and listen to them laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> i dont think i stopped blushing the entire time i wrote this. i must go


End file.
